


So Tonight That I Might See

by JGogoboots



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Telepathic Bond, Telepathy, Will Graham Has Encephalitis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 17:35:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15954209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JGogoboots/pseuds/JGogoboots
Summary: You know who I am.As you know who I am.Not like this, I don’t. Stop playing games, Ripper. How did you find me?Find me and perhaps I shall tell you, Will Graham.Will Graham never put much stock into the theory of telepathic soulmates, but now that the Chesapeake Ripper is sending him ever more violent images, he has no choice but to believe.





	So Tonight That I Might See

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThatRedBean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatRedBean/gifts).



> This is my fulfillment of a prompt [@ThatRedBean](https://thatredbean.tumblr.com/) sent me about Hannigram being telepathic soulmates. I only meant for this to be a small one-shot, but I got pretty into it until it snowballed into a 5k+ fic. :D I hope you enjoy it! The title is ripped from the name of a Mazzy Star record.

Will’s telepathic flickers were harder to separate than most. Other people weren’t used to someone else in their head, weren’t used to foreign thoughts and sense memories invading without warning and a ferocity that pulsed like blood beneath the skin. Other people could immediately recognize the first instance of their soulmate involuntarily flooding their consciousness, could pinpoint the exact moment something shifted like jagged rock struck by lightning. But other people weren’t Will Graham. Will was accustomed to the mindset of others layering across his own. It was like the fine points of so many needles stitching across the edge of his own mentality only to be ripped away, the neat loops of thread tugging free as he separated himself, erecting the wall of protection that kept him from slipping too far into the minds of the killers he was tasked to catch. But not this. This was different.

When the snapshots first appeared, vivid colors of emotion at first, harsh, glaring reds and bright oranges lighting up like erratic fireworks across his mental landscape, he assumed they were afterimages from the latest monster whose scent he had acquired, a lingering effect from the most recent case. As time passed, they grew more distinct, evolving from flashes of color to a word here and there. Eventually, full, poetic sentences (the kind that made it clear he was an educated man) were broadcast from his soulmate, and he began to realize this was no after-effect of his work. This was something new and terrifying and yet elegant in its horror, a beautiful monster whose talons Will could feel scratching at his insides, clawing its way in like something insatiable and impossible to define.

“He’s angry, but he doesn’t burst. He _seethes_. He exercises and harnesses control, letting his fury loose in measured, painstakingly calculated gestures of violence. He is an artist…or…he _thinks_ he is at least. What he does is elevated in his eyes.” Will spoke to the still air of his kitchen, the room empty and quiet save for the rhythmic _thump thump_ of Winston’s tail on the hard linoleum. He gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white and strained around the shiny metal as he caught his breath, cold sweat running down his fevered cheeks as he steadied himself from the force of the latest glimpse. As ugly and chilling as the vision of this mysterious man’s capacity for cruelty was, Will was beginning to be intrigued. This killer wasn’t like any other he’d met. He was unique. Strange and contradictory. There wasn’t the black void of emotion he normally felt with the rest. In its place was an avid curiosity about human nature, a respect and almost amusement for the choices people made and why they made them. This man was a keen observer.

_I was curious what would happen._ The words echoed across Will’s mind hours later alongside an image of a dead man laid across a table, his body pierced by many sharp objects of various sizes. They came across in Will’s own voice, offering no clue about the sound of their source, but their inflection was distinct. It was honest and matter-of-fact in its sentiment, no hint of the nefarious nature behind it. _I was curious what would happen._

Will took a deep breath as he closed his eyes, attempting sleep for the umpteenth time that night. He drifted off with the glint of a knife’s edge across his eyelids, droplets of blood trickling in slow motion onto a lacquered, cobalt floor.

 

***

 

His soulmate wasn’t all brutality and mangled screams. There was a juxtaposition of aesthetics and refinement alongside the unforgiving violence that captured Will’s attention no matter how much he wished it didn’t. There was revelry in music, symphonies and concertos piping in through Will’s ears with a sense of joy and immense appreciation, crescendoing violins complemented by resounding timpani. There were elaborate meals, appetizing cuts of expensive meat paired with gourmet side dishes that Will couldn’t identify by sight, the plating far more complex than that of any restaurant he had ever been to.

While he was more social than Will would have expected, it rang hollow. This was a man who played the part expertly, but wished for a companion with whom he could exhibit his darkest secret without fear of rejection. Will saw theses glimpses through the eyes of his mate, never able to see any physical part of him other than his hands as they served dinner guests wearing gleeful, rapt expressions. He was charming for certain. He captivated with seemingly no effort at all, a prima ballerina performing a memorized routine for an enthralled crowd.

_Make it look easy. Make it look like second nature,_ Will thought.

_You know a thing or two about that as well. Don’t you?_

Will didn’t confirm or deny it. He had a feeling he didn’t really have to. 

 

***

 

“What do you see?”

Even before he opened his mouth, he knew he would lie to Jack. He wasn’t sure why he was doing it. He told himself it was only temporary; he was only biding time. Will would tell him soon enough. In a day. Maybe two.

“I don’t know…he’s…hard to grasp.” Not a lie exactly. A bending of the truth to suit his needs in the moment.

“I’m going to NEED you to grasp him, Will. Is it the Ripper?” Jack was attempting to tamp down his rising bellow, but Will could feel the impatience radiating from him like heat off summer pavement. He glanced down at the man’s body littered with instruments of pain, the blades of so many tools piercing through him in a pattern that appeared random at a distance. But when one gazed closely, the grace of the display came through, the art of execution thrumming through Will with a pleasure he tried to ignore.

“I can’t be sure. Not yet. Let me sit with it – let me sit with _him_ ,” Will corrected himself as he squeezed his eyes shut. _If only you knew just how much I sit with him, Jack. I sit with him every day. I didn’t know it before, but I know it now. I know HIM now._

“In the time you take to – ” Jack steeled his jaw, the muscles twitching as he fought not to finish that sentence. He didn’t have to. Will knew how it ended. _In the time you take to sit with it, another body could show up. Another person could be dead._ The same loop of guilt that kept them both going.

Will knew Jack wasn’t wrong, but something caught on the edge of his resolve, pulling him backward like an invisible rope around his middle.

_Who are you?_

Will concentrated, shutting his eyes and breathing deeply, sending the thought across the bond. He wasn’t sure if he could. He’d never read much about the mechanics of telepathic soulmates. It wasn’t a concept Will had bought into or given the time of day before. Now it was all he could think about.

_whoareyouwhoareyouwhoareyouwhoareyou_

He repeated it like a mantra as he sat motionless in his car, the crime scene around him dissolving as he funneled all his energy into this one thought. Will’s eyes suddenly shot open, the force of the answer like a rush of ice water in his veins, his breath hitched in the depth of his lungs.

_I am your shadow as you are mine._

Will panted, the back of his head pressed hard into the headrest of his seat, now slick with his own sweat. He turned the key in the ignition and tried hard not to think, _I know. I know you are. I know it like I know my own body. Like I know the map of my own skin._

_I ache to learn that skin._

It was gentler this time, the response more of a whisper than a shout, a hushed confession of admiration. Will’s heart swelled, and he felt peace for the first time in weeks.

 

***

 

“This is two in a week. If it’s the Ripper, he’s moving fast. What’s motivating him to strike again so soon?” Jack queried in an anxious tone, canting his head as Will observed the scene. A couple had been slaughtered and posed like Chloris and Zephyrus in Botticelli’s _Primavera,_ elegant drapes of fabric across their corpses and fragrant flowers framing their carefully arranged limbs.

“He’s trying to get someone’s attention.” Will let it slip without thinking, scrambling to mask his own reaction to the admission before Jack could notice.

_You know who I am._

_As you know who I am._

_Not like this, I don’t. Stop playing games, Ripper. How did you find me?_

_Find me and perhaps I shall tell you, Will Graham._

_And just how do I do that?_

_All the clues are laid bare for you, my clever boy. I have the utmost faith in you._

_You’re a bastard._

The bond was quiet for a moment, and Will thought he had gone altogether. But then a hissing admonishment scurried across Will’s brain, his stomach twisting into knots. He clutched his belly as he bent over.

_Then so are you, it would appear, my dear Will. For you are me, and I am you._

_No, I’m not._

Will sent the words across with a hammer on every syllable, a shriek that built in the depths of his heart and spread across the invisible wire that connected them.

_You can lie to them and yourself, but you cannot lie to me. I will be waiting for you._

“Are you alright, Will?” Jack’s words came floating across the void, the muffled sounds of a voice funneled through water.

Will shook his head and forced himself to stand upright.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jack.” Will walked to his car on unsteady legs. Twenty minutes passed before he felt stable enough to drive home.

***

 

Will buried his head in his hands, stretching his tired skin back with shaking fingers. His exhausted eyes roved over the ever-expanding wall of notes and clippings.

“This is bordering on conspiracy wall territory,” Will said with a sigh and a glance toward the door as though he expected the FBI to kick it down and cart him off to the psych ward.

_I don’t know what it is that you want me to see. Help me see it._

_It would be far less rewarding if I led the horse to water. Do not doubt your gift, Will. I can feel your fatigue like a ragged nerve. Rest._

Will laughed, a high-pitched unstable sound as he swept a hand through his disheveled brown hair. A serial killer was concerned for his well-being. Regardless of the absurdity, Will had to admit he was right. No coherent thought was going to arrive in this state. Despite the threat of insomnia and nightmares which had only grown more frequent since the Ripper made contact, Will climbed into bed, faithful Winston curled at his feet in a warm, comforting ball, and closed his eyes.

 

***

 

Somehow, he slept uninterrupted for the first time in weeks. He woke with a strange sense that his soulmate was responsible for this, that he had been feeding Will signals throughout the night to mollify him. Shaking off the implications he wasn’t ready to examine, Will brewed coffee at a strength that would make most people a jittery, panicked mess, and pulled up a chair in front of the collaged wall.

Maybe he was going about it all wrong. Maybe focusing on the victims was the wrong angle. After all, it had been three days of staring intently and rearranging the details into every conceivable order, and that had yielded nothing. He was no closer to knowing when the Ripper would strike next or who he would choose as his target. He looked at the pushpins marking the locations of the murder tableaux the FBI had uncovered. It appeared to be an unremarkable straight line. The next body could appear anywhere close by.

_Sounders of three._

It seemed too simple, but there was a symmetry to it, an elegance to the neatly closed three-pronged figure. Will calculated the latitude and longitude to make a perfect equilateral triangle and added a third pushpin.

_Is this where you’ll be?_

Will concentrated and sent a flash of the map across the thread connecting them.

_Yes. Tomorrow night. I will be expecting you._

_How do you know I won’t turn you in?_

_I don’t._

 

***

 

Will trekked across the woods, boots crunching the mounds of freshly fallen snow, a flashlight in his hand, the other resting on his gun where it lay in his hip holster.

He walked a few paces forward and saw a small clearing. Something or someone was standing near the middle. It wasn’t moving. He removed the gun from its holster and continued on, bracing the flashlight on top of his poised weapon. The object in the clearing came into view, bloody and raw, mounted on top of three poles that glinted silver in the beam of Will’s flashlight. He cautiously strode closer, whirling around every couple steps, shining the light on the surrounding woods to search for any signs of the Ripper.

A mere foot from the display now, he could make out what it was: a corpse, its limbs broken and bent, reshaped into the form of a human heart. What looked like poles from afar were actually a trio of swords, beveled with a seam down the center of each. Will shone the flashlight up and down the display slowly, taking in every meticulous inch. He could have sworn it pulsed with life in the dark, moonlit night, beating with a fervor as though a wild animal were steadily clawing its way out from the center. He involuntarily flinched, bracing himself for an eruption of blood and fresh carnage, but none came. It was getting harder to tell the hallucinations from reality. His breath built into a pant, a mixture of fear and arousal coursing its way from the tips of his frozen feet to his flushed, clammy cheeks. There was no time to process the confusing swell of emotional signals battering their way through his psyche like bats trapped in a constricted room, frantic wings beating against one another as the unfocused search for escape consumed them. No time at all when the smoky drawl of _him_ was there to break the silence.

“Hello, Will.”

For a brief moment, Will thought it was in his head, thought that the telepathy had grown stronger until he could finally decipher the true voice of his soulmate, the timbre coming across as clear as a bell. Will turned around, the movement of his body sluggish and seemingly out of his control, and lifted his eyes to meet the man’s gaze. He belatedly realized that he had failed to aim the gun, only taking notice when the man in front of him gazed at the black weapon hanging limply in Will’s hand, his arm resting at his side with no urgency. The man didn’t look at it with concern or fear, only a cool observation tinged with amusement, as though it was endearing that Will had even brought it. It felt as if he knew Will had no intention of ever using it, but he commended him for keeping up the pretense all the same.

Will idly wondered if these thoughts were his own perception or deliberate signals he was picking up from the Ripper. The Ripper who was now standing before him. The Ripper whose macabre reign of terror had put fear into the hearts of everyone who read the grisly details in the news reports after he emerged from dormancy every few years. The Ripper who had always seemed more of a legend than a man, a tale whispered in hushed tones of disgust mingled with a morbid sense of curious titillation. The Ripper who had an undeniable connection with Will. A connection that was growing in strength and clarity every day.

“You’re handsome.” Will’s facial features wrinkled in confusion as he said it. What a pedestrian comment. What an inconsequential thing and a very out of character aspect for Will to notice or care about, and yet it struck him all the same. This was the face of an attractive, cultured individual, everything from the lapels of his impeccably tailored overcoat to the side-swept hair and impossibly high cheekbones broadcasting wealth and a very fortunate hand dealt by the genetic lottery.

_That was an idiotic observation to make. I’m sorry._

_Don’t be. I imagine that kind of sentiment is highly unusual for a man of your solemn temperament. I consider the gesture greatly flattering by virtue of its rarity._

“I’m glad you see it that way. It was rather…anticlimactic as far as first words go.” Will smiled awkwardly, taken aback by how at ease he felt. He was aware that he should feel rattled, afraid, intimidated… _something_ else other than comfort and familiarity.

“Do you feel an obligation to impress me, Will?” The man walked a few steps closer, the gap between them only a couple feet now. Something about the way he used Will’s name so frequently, the “l”s musical and rolling in his foreign accent, was soothing and…attractive, if Will were to be honest with himself.

“I don’t know what I feel,” Will responded truthfully. “Is this…your twisted valentine to me?”

Will looked over his shoulder at the strange, artful crime scene before turning back to the Ripper.

“Do you not approve?” He moved closer still, and Will didn’t budge.

_It’s beautiful._

Saying it aloud felt too risky. Keeping it confined to thought allowed Will to keep at least some semblance of denial intact.

_Too real if you give voice to the words? The wrong thing being the right thing to do too ugly a thought, dear Will?_

_I don’t know what’s right anymore. I don’t know you. Not really. You’re fond of my name._

“What’s yours?” Will’s own voice sounded harsh to his ears, sudden in the surrounding blanket of winter quiet around them. More determined now, he stepped forward until they were only a foot apart.

“Hannibal,” He said with the faintest of smiles, his head canting ever so slightly. “Might we go somewhere more conducive to discussion?”

 

***

 

_The Ripper is in my house. This is easily the most moronic decision I’ve ever made._

Will had grown more adept at guarding his thoughts when he wanted to, releasing them to the clutches of Hannibal only when he saw fit. Still, he turned to the man seated across from him at the kitchen table and checked for any signs of recognition. He found none. They sipped their coffee and regarded one another intently for so long that Will jerked back when Hannibal rose from his chair and crouched beside him.

“Forgive me for startling you. I only meant to…” Hannibal reached out a hand and then promptly retracted it. “Will you permit me to confirm a theory?”

“What kind of theory?” Will asked dubiously, his heart hammering in his chest, the proximity of Hannibal pulling his desires in contradictory directions. He wanted to run, he wanted to kiss him, he wanted to bury his body inside his ribcage and hide away from the rest of the world, his chin nestled atop the lulling cadence of Hannibal’s beating heart.

“I believe you are ill. Have you been experiencing headaches? Fevers? Loss of time?” Hannibal outstretched his hand but made contact this time, pressing his cool palm against Will’s sweating forehead.

“Yes. Is that…do you know that because of our connection?”

“No. I sensed that you were troubled in various ways, but I did not put this particular affliction together until I smelled it.”

“I’m sorry, you – what?!” Will shook his head and speared Hannibal with confused eyes.

“Encephalitis. I noticed hints of it when we first approached one another.” Hannibal leaned in closer, eyes reverently closed, and scented Will’s neck. Will’s eyelids fluttered, pleasure blooming in his belly, his skin flushing as he fought the urge to haul Hannibal onto his lap and claim his mouth. “Yes, I am quite certain.”

“And what does encephalitis smell like?” Will queried with a disbelieving laugh.

“It has heat. A fevered sweetness,” Hannibal answered gravely.

“You’re serious…” Will’s eyes softened as he observed Hannibal’s genuine look of concern.

“Quite so, I’m afraid. You must see a neurologist as soon as possible.” Hannibal cradled Will’s face in his hand, his palm sliding down from his forehead to rest against his cheek. He gazed back at him with unbearable fondness, and Will didn’t know how to reconcile this charming, tender face with the notorious serial killer he’d been enlisted to help capture. There were too many thoughts whirring inside his mind to sort through, and everything in his blood seemed to be screaming for him to ignore it in favor of melting into Hannibal’s touch. He shivered, and Hannibal rose from the floor, pulling Will up with him, his hand migrating from Will’s cheek to the hair at the nape of his neck.

“So responsive to so little. You yearn to be touched. How long has it been since someone took you to bed?”

The question should have been intrusive. It would have given Will hesitation were it posed by anyone else, but with Hannibal it seemed perfectly normal. After all, they’d been inside each other's heads for weeks now. Maybe even months. Will wasn't so good at marking time these days.

“I lost count somewhere after year two,” Will confessed with a weak chuckle, moaning softly, eyes drifting closed as Hannibal lightly tugged on his hair at the root.

“Would you like me to?” The question was stunningly confident in its nonchalance.

“Hannibal…that’s…” Will shook his head, but it felt like a futile gesture. Every cell inside him seemed to jolt forth, begging to be closer to Hannibal, closer to his warmth.

“I agree. Ordinarily, I would consider it quite forward, but I thought perhaps…given the extraordinary and unprecedented circumstances, you might not deem it inappropriate.”

“You’re so…formal… _polite_.”

“And this surprises you. Despite what you know of me from the strand that connects our souls, you cannot reject that which you have been conditioned to accept in your work.” Hannibal didn’t sound offended, only pragmatic.

“Psychopaths aren’t supposed to be tender and polite. They aren’t supposed to be concerned about my health,” Will confirmed with a resigned sigh, and Hannibal rubbed circles on his upper back. Will tilted forward and rested his head against Hannibal’s shoulder, giving into the pulsating desire within him, allowing himself to be embraced and to embrace back. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had held him. Everything about Hannibal’s touch whispered _let me take care of you, let me help you._  

“Surely you know that you are unparalleled for me. I never expected to sense your rare spark of life draped across the breadth of my own. And yet here we are.” Hannibal’s lips brushed Will’s ear as he spoke, the minute touch traveling straight to Will’s cock. It swelled in his jeans, and he realized he hadn’t opened the connection between them for a few minutes. He lifted the proverbial gate and released a flood of arousal, no specific sentiments, just undulating waves of color and tangible desire.

“Will…” Hannibal sounded breathless and awe-struck. Will staggered backward, propelled by the intensity of the response he received, the pleasure echoed back at him weakening his knees and skating across every inch of his skin.

_Hannibal…I…please…_

Will looked up with half-lidded eyes and hoped he didn’t need to say more, hoped the bright blazes he sent were loud and vibrant. Something in Hannibal’s gaze shifted, the predatory beast shining through as he lunged at Will, hungrily sealing their mouths together. Will moaned, grateful for Hannibal’s strong arms anchoring him in place as he quivered from the electric charge soaring through him.

_I need you I need you Hannibal how could I need you this much already?_

_I could spend a lifetime bestowing upon you everything that this ravaged world has to offer, and still I would pray for more. I want your heart to beat within my own until the rhythms of our lives become one._

_This is pure insanity. This is an untested drug. I don’t think I can trust it._

_Have your instincts led you astray before, Will? You are the FBI’s faithful bloodhound. Everyone trusts the direction in which you point except you. Why is that?_

Will answered by backing Hannibal into the bedroom. When Hannibal’s knees met the mattress, he spun them around, manipulating Will’s weight as though he were feather-light, pushing him onto the bed and helping him out of his sweater. They stripped down in silence, neither their lips nor their minds moving as they watched each other, the voracious stares of vicious predators circling one another, penetrating with a depth Will hadn’t ever experienced. But it didn’t feel intimidating. It didn’t make Will shrink away. Instead, it was thoroughly entrancing.

_No one’s ever looked at me like that. I feel like I could come just from you pressed against me, your thoughts mingling with mine._

It was easier to sync together now that he was here. Proximity appeared to make the connection seamless, a symbiosis as automatic as breathing.

_Perhaps we should test that theory._

Hannibal grinned wolfishly, and Will’s cock twitched on his stomach. Hannibal’s body was strong, lean sculpted muscle that Will ached to touch. He sent that desire to Hannibal, and he obliged, covering the length of Will’s body with his own, one arm slipping underneath Will to wrap around his shoulders, the other lying beside him, his hand carding through his curls. Their legs were entwined, every inch of Will’s skin absorbing Hannibal’s heat.

Hannibal sent an overwhelming wave of affection across the link, and Will threw his head back, hands clamping down on Hannibal’s shoulders in a vise grip, tightening the bind of their legs as he cried out. Will wished he could float away from his body and observe them from above, see the way they looked, fused like two tightly wound coils until their bodies were indistinguishable from one another, a mass of tangled limbs. Rapid sequences of images flashed across his consciousness with such passion, he barely had time to parse and process each one before they were replaced by new, even more insistent ones. Hannibal sent images of what he wanted from Will, and it was all-encompassing in a way that couldn’t be articulated with mere words, yet somehow Hannibal did just that.

_Blood and breath are only elements undergoing change to fuel your radiance. Just as the source of light is burning._

Will heard the resonant tones in his head, now properly in Hannibal’s rumbling baritone, and they were succinct and so very _right._

_Yes yes yes._

Will found he couldn’t respond with much more than a chant of approval and images of his own as he devoured each new picture of savage love Hannibal sent: the way he wanted to coax Will’s inner monster to reveal itself, the way he wanted to _hunt_ with him, the many methods by which he wanted to consume him. Will felt protected and enveloped but frightened and astounded as well. He bit back a sob of tortured pleasure as Hannibal rutted against him, teeth sinking into Will’s neck.

Will’s cock throbbed, painfully swollen and red now, the tip leaking against Hannibal’s own fierce erection, the friction perched right in the space between too much and not enough.

_No one has allowed your gift to flourish as it should. They harness it for a means to their own ends with little regard for your potential. If you followed the urges you kept down for so long, cultivated them as the inspirations they are, you would become someone other than yourself. Are you ready for your becoming, Will? Will you allow me this sacred pleasure? To serve as the only witness to your transformation as you emerge from the chrysalis?_

How could he say anything but yes?

Will’s back bowed off the bed as he came harder than he ever had before, his come sticky and warm between them. He bit down on Hannibal’s shoulder as he climaxed, causing Hannibal to join him in his pleasure, his cock pulsing against Will’s now softening one. Will slowly unwound his legs and arms from their stranglehold on Hannibal’s body, his senses waking as a man freshly freed from a trance. He was spellbound, possessed, under the influence of something more potent than anything he’d ever felt before, and he tried to quell the panic as he came down from it.

“What are we doing…” His pitch didn’t rise at the end of the sentence to indicate a question. He wasn’t sure if he was really searching for an answer in that moment. Just a confirmation that the gorgeous yet fearsome man beside him was joining him in this shared insanity.

“If I am to be absolutely truthful, I must admit that I don’t know, Will. But I suspect we will figure it out together.” Hannibal turned on his side, stroking Will’s hair with a tender hand. Will turned to look at him and couldn’t help but smile at how messy and wrecked he was. While this night marked the first occasion Will had truly seen him in the flesh, he still knew enough to know that a disheveled and debauched Hannibal was a rare and precious sight. The trust radiating from him was hard to ignore. Will knew it was a generous offering.

“Fuck, the body!” Will shot up to a sitting position, seized by panic. “Your footprints – the scene – we have to go back – we have to – ”

_What am I saying I can’t protect him this isn’t me…is it?_

For once in his life, Will let himself admit that he wasn’t entirely sure.

“Your indecision is palpable. What a heady, intoxicating thing…to be so in tune with one another. I believe it is more powerful when we are near, like this. I will not ask you to help. It is true that my precautions were far more inept than usual. I have discovered that…” Hannibal took a deep breath and sat up, his shoulder pressed against Will’s. “My ardor for you has overshadowed my instincts of preservation. I was very anxious to meet you. Perhaps more anxious than I have ever been for the company of another.”

“You’re probably disappointed.” Will frowned at his own words, marveling at how strange they sounded. This need to please his mate was a bizarre sensation to adjust to. Hannibal tilted Will’s face toward him, bringing them eye to eye.

“Why do you doubt your magnificence? Like a porcelain teacup containing a poisonous yet aromatic elixir, you are fragile yet formidable, enticing but dangerous. Others do not see beyond what they are shown, but I see you. I _know_ you.” 

“I know you too,” Will whispered, softly kissing Hannibal’s curved mouth. “What do we do now, Hannibal?”

_Lead me. I want you to. I’ll help you._

It was shockingly easy…easy to surrender, easy to give himself over to the influence of this profoundly twisted and deep connection. It almost felt like a respite, a chance to let someone else take the reins for a change and take care of him. Hannibal was right; no one had taken that sort of interest in Will in a long, long time. Hannibal smiled proudly, his amber eyes looking into Will’s blue irises. No one had ever looked at Will like that. For the second time that night, he was sure of it.

“Oh, Will…so much more than you ever imagined.”

“You’re as alone as I am,” Will said, brow knitting together as he realized just how true that was.

“And we’re both alone without each other,” Hannibal knowingly replied.

“Let’s get to work, Hannibal. We have a lot to do.”

They smiled at one another, a sinister and loving upturn of lips, the unmistakable sensation of looking into a mirror washing over both of them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos give me life, so let me know your thoughts! This kind of trope isn't really in my wheelhouse so I was nervous about approaching it, but I got sucked in and really enjoyed writing it. Come say hello on Tumblr if you like: [@punchedbymarkesmith](http://punchedbymarkesmith.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also, special thanks to the always lovely [Lady_Darkness](https://darkfannibal.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing this!


End file.
